


Ambitions & Compromise

by dannyel2017



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, a bitch yet not a bich Cersei, sansa so in love, shady Tyrells, upset and chagrined Martells, warry Robb and cocky Theon bffs, wild Starks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-01-29 04:11:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12622900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dannyel2017/pseuds/dannyel2017
Summary: Someone's feelings get in the way of others' ambitions and someone's ambitions get in the way of others lives.  Persuaded by his wife, Robert Baratheon sets aside the betrothal between his son and heir Joffrey Baratheon and Lady Margaery Tyrell and considers that it's time for a Stark Queen to sit on the throne next to a Baratheon King. Lions feel wounded, Wolves come south, Stags get divided and Flowers must find a way to bloom under any possible circumstance. All that while the Sun is shining wearily and the Dragon is far in the east, preparing to be awaken. Winter is Coming and the Game of Thrones had never been more interesting.All men must die or all that are stupid enough to believe that.





	1. Lions

Cersei Lannister poured herself another cup of the finest Arbor as she was waiting for the arrival of her Llord father. She didn’t particularly understand why they had to meet in her study of all places but she didn’t really care. The Queen was too pleased with herself for getting rid of the young Tyrell wench that was supposed to marry her son. The Lioness knew all to well about the plan the Tyrells had concocted to put the girl on the the throne by marrying her to her beloved son, Joffrey and she did not like it one bit. She could still hear the words of Maggy the Frog in her head ' Queen you shall be... until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all that you hold dear.' 

Her brows furrowed in an expression of displeasure at the sight of her youngest brother Tyrion just as he was entering her chambers, followed closely by her father and her half and twin Jamie. 

“What is he doing here?” She spat as she pointed her index towards the dwarf, offering him a venomous look.

“I will have none of that here!” The iron voice of Tywin Lannister stopped his daughter from continuing to say whatever she had in mind to Tyrion. The Lion of Casterly Rock would not waste his time by standing witness to a petty words fight between his children. 

Before starting what he was about to say, the Lion eyed all his three cubs to be certain that all their attention was on him. 

“Cersei! You often wander why I don’t take your opinion into consideration, why I don't seek your advice more. It is not because you’re a woman, it is simply becaue you are not smart enough. Now tell me, why would I think that you are not smart enough?”

The Lioness was left speechless. As she tried to form a sentence she stumbled into her own words not knowing what would be proper to say. She did not expect her father to gather all three of them just to scold and embarass her. Tywin responded his own question with another

“Why are the Tyrells not at court? Why are they in Highgarden right now?” He asked, this time signaling that everyone who could provide an answer should do so.

“Because they rule over the Reach and Highgarden is its capital?” Jaime responded with a bemused and a bit bored look on his face. Before the eldest son could be yelled at for his not so satisfying answer, Tyrion intervened.

“Because Margaery Tyrell is not going to marry Prince Joffrey. The King has set aside their betrothal.”

“Good. At least one of you has some sense in him. But why would he do that?”

“Because the Tyrells are known schemers and liars who thirst for one of them to sit on the throne!” Cersei spoke for the first time since her father had put her to silence for scolding Tyrion.

“No! He did that because of your stupid whispers and whinging! Robert Baratheon is a fat drunk who could not care less about someone else's ambitions and you made him bring shame to Tyrells by summoning them to the court just to cancel a betrothal. More so, now with Jon Arryn dead he has asked Ned Stark to come to serve as Hand of the King and has convinced him to make his daughter future Queen by taking the place of the Tyrell girl!” After he paused for a second to catch his breath, the lord continued in the same harsh tone as before. “He can’t stand your brother and yet he is not going to release him from his vows as member of the Kingsguard which leaves me without a proper heir. I could have had Jaime married off to the Tyrell girl if you so much didn’t want her around you, I would have directly joined us with another Great House. Gods know we could use some of their gold as your oaf of a husband spends all of ours away.”

“You have an heir.” Cersei responded calmy, pointing her finger to Tyrion. “Why didn’t you have him marry Margaery Tyrell? They would have made the most unique and lovely couple.” At that, Jaime barely kept himself from breaking into laughter.

“Sometimes I wonder which one of you three is my biggest failure, though after all this time is quite hard to tell.” Tywin sighed, continuing. “Do you realize that with your actions you have made Ned Stark Hand of the King instead of me and that now I have to pay for not one, but two weddings?”

“Two?” Inquired Tyrion curiously.

“I don’t know how or who put the thought in his mind but Robert plans to make up to the Tyrells by proposing a marriage between Ned Stark’s heir, Robb, and Margaery Tyrell. Now the North gets an alliance with the Reach and the Crown, and we also have to pay for both weddings as the Crown means us, when it comes to expenses.

Tyrion could not see what his father’s problem was with these events, outside for paying for the weddings, of course, which, how expensive could they even be? It is not like the Lannisters do not have enough money, but it’s also not like Tyrion himself was exactly aware of the financial situation of his family, as his father had made it a plan of his to exclude him from any activity that implied ruling or administrating. For all the Imp knew his family was suposed to shit gold. For a moment Tyrion could notice fatigue in the eyes of his father, a sense of tiredness that enveloped the being of Tywin Lannister, an old but proud and fierce lion who has fought all his life to strengthen the name of Lannister and who now could see how his plans were being slowly destroyed not by enemies but by the sloppiness and stupidity of his children. That sense of fatigue was immediately replaced by wrath.

“Listen to me carefully, all of you, and you Cersei the most.” Began the old Lion fixing his daughter with a death stare. “I promised you when you were a girl of three and ten that you would be Queen. I went through fire and blood and I made you one, but if you ever go against my will again, I will be the one to take that title and everything that comes with it away from you.” 

Jaime had never seen his sister so petrified in his entire life and he wondered how much the thought of losing the crown scared her and if that crown meant for her more than the love between them. He had given away his life and his inheritance to serve in the Kingsguard and for what? Now he was being called a Kingslayer and despised by everyone even though he had saved all their lives. Now he had to guard the chambers of Robert Baratheon while he was drunkenly defiling his beloved Cersei night after night. Sometimes he wished Rhaegar had been triumphant in the Battle of the Trident as he would have been a thousand times a better King than the Baratheron fool . The late silver prince had been right then - things were about to change, only they had changed for the worse possible outcome.

“Tyrion, you will remain in King’s Landing for the time being. I have arranged for a position for you in the Small Council. Alongside with Petyr Baelish you will act as Master of Coin. I want you to also be in charge with the preparations of the two weddings and to be sure that the gold spent is going where it is supposed to and doesn’t magically vanishes.”

A wedding planner was not the most awful position for a dwarf whose father deeply hated him and wanted him out of his sight, Tyrion concluded. He would have to deal with Petyr Baelish which was almost as irritating as interracting with Cersei, but it would do. Tywin’s youngest son nodded in approvement as his father turned to Jaime.

“And you Jaime, since the King already considers you useless but won’t let you go, will train your nephew Joffrey with the sword. I expect you to put some sense in him and to help him develop a skill other than whinging and killing cats. And I expect you, dear daughter of mine to devote your time and love to your other child, Myrcella, as I will try to find a fitting betrothal for a princess.” After a short pause, the Lion continued. 

“Lastly, I inform you that I have spoken with the King and he has accepted that I take Tommen with me to Casterly Rock. He will serve as my ward and unless anything drastic changes also as my heir. It’s time the boy receives a proper education and if the gods are good, he’ll also become leaner and not step into the shoes of his father.” 

Cersei wanted to yell her heart out and for a moment she considered to throw the half full cup of wine into her father’s face but decided against it. Not only has he made her look like a fool in front of her siblings and was going to take away her second son, but he has also threatened to take her crown away.

After that, their meeting had officially ended and her father and brothers left her chambers, however, not before she could give Jaime a knowing glare which meant they were going to see each other that night. The blonde haired Lioness loved nothing or almost nothing more than being left alone to drink away her sorrows. She had become Queen just like her father said she will when she only a little girl, but at what price? The only two men that she could fuck were her disgusting whoring husband and her twin brother. Jaime was blood of her blood, her other half and perhaps the most beautiful man in the Seven Kingdoms but after some time their nights spent together in secrecy weren’t as fulfilling as they once were. Multiple times during the years and even from now and then a purple-eyed prince was invading her sleep – she had dreamed of him making sweet love to her and possessing her body, offering her his dragon in ways that no other man, not even Jaime could. While the times has passed for her, Rhaegar had remained the same in her dreams: young, beautiful and majestic. But he was gone and even when he alive he never looked at her that away. In her heart Cersei knew she could have made him forget of northern maids and of dornish whores.

However, now she had to focus on the present and of the future. Now the time when her Joffrey was to marry was getting closer and while she couldn't stop that from happening she still had a say in the choosing of the bride. The Stark bitch looked more Tully than Stark and that was a relief for Cersei, who could not have a Lyanna Stark look alike take her place. This girl’s head was filled with fantasies of knightly princes and princely knights and she seemed very enamoured with her son in an annoying, but honest and innocent way. She wasn’t as fair Cersei when she was in her prime and she was in no way possible as fair as the Tyrell whore who aspired to be a Queen but she was the same age as Joffrey and had already flowered. On top of all, she was a maid – that was the most certain thing about her that Cersei was aware of. 

The Queen drank another cup of wine and with a smile on her lips she reimagined the scene in the Throne Room when Margaery Tyrell had been set aside for the Stark girl. The look of surprise on her face, the way she was almost going to faint but masterfully controlled herself and responded with grace and dignity as if all her dreams hadn’t been shattered in that moment – all those things would make Mace Tyrell’s daughter worthy of at least respect, but all Cersei could feel in regards to her was scorn. 

As she licked the last drop of wine from her goblet, Cersei’s eyes began to close and her mind began to drift to the land of dreams. She dreamed of happiness, of Jaime as he was training her silver headed children in the yard, of Rhaegar, beautiful, alive and regal as ever and of her mother Joanna who hadn’t died and was with her.


	2. Roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Tyrells share unexpected news.

Margaery Tyrell had trully missed the weather and beauty of the mighty Highgarden. For all that could be said, the capital of the Reach was ten times more beautiful than King’s Landing, albeit a bit smaller in size. No smell of shit, no angry smallfolk, no goldcloaks roaming around the city like they owned it, but also no Iron Throne – which she was sad and happy about at the same time. It meant she had more time for her to spend with her beloved older brothers: Willas, Garlan and Loras, but it also meant that a new betrothal for her was in the works.

 

Wearing a light blue dress that showed her bare back and letting her curly brown hair roam freely over her shoulders, the Rose of Highgarden entered the chambers of Willas, where he and her grandmother, the Lady Olenna, had been expecting her. Margaery knew exactly why they had summoned her and a part of her twinged in anticipation at who they had in mind for her this time. Since she was a little girl she had realized that being a highborn lady meant that she had to secure an alliance through marriage for the well being and prosperity of her family. If the gods were good, she might find an acceptable and loving man as her husband and if they weren’t… she would just have to work around the situation.

 

“Hello, sweet sister!” Willas came to her and hugged her tightly in his arms. She had not seen her eldest brother since she left for Kingslanding to become princess and now here she was home, still an unmarried lady. Willas had not been able to travel with them to the capital or rather had not wished to, as someone had to rule the Reach while their father was boasting to every minor lordling how the Tyrells will marry they way into royalty.

 

Willas was dressed in a white loose shirt embrodied with roses and a pair of green pants made of the finest silk from Lys. His curly hair was a few shades darker that his sister’s while his cunning eyes were lighter, the colour of molten gold. He had the handsome features of all his Tyrell siblings, complimented by the high cheekbones he got from his Hightower part of the family. Although he had one crippled leg, the heir of Highgarden was quite dashing for a man of nine and twenty and had kept his body lean and defined. It was a mistery to Margaery as to why Willas had not found himself a wife yet.

 

Sitting patiently on a chair was her grandmother, the Queen of Thorns, called that by many due to her incredible wits and sharp tongue. Olenna Tyrell might appear to most people as an old and frail woman who spends her days picking on others as if that was the only entertainment a person of her age could have. Born a Redwyne, married to what she called an oaf and giving birth to another, she was the one who has truly ruled over Highgarden and the Reach until her grandson came of a proper age to be taught the insights of rulling over a Great House and how to properly control its vassals.

 

“Sit, my dear. Or haven’t you heard your brother when he invited you to? We have received most urgent news from the Capital.”

 

Margaery did as she was told to, knowing that she was about to hear was connected somehow to her, otherwise she wouldn’t participate in this meeting. While lady Olenna was very proud of her granddaughter, telling her that she reminded of a younger version of herself, it was clear that the old woman was more fond of Willas, mainly because, with the help of the gods, he hadn’t turned out like his father or grandfather. One day, as the whole family was having dinner, the old woman jested that her good daughter Alerie must’ve had a secret lover, doubting that no man as bright as Willas might come out of Mace's seed. Lady Alerie had almost chocked at those words, her face reddening in anger like the sun of Dorne. Needless to say, the whole joke had flown over Mace’s head, to noone’s surprise.

 

“We’ve received a betrothal offer, dear. You might not find it pleasing, but it’s way better than the other options.”

 

“Has the king released ser Jaime from his duties as Kingsguard?” Asked the girl with a glimpse of hope in her eyes. She knew not many hold any respect for Jaime Lannister, calling him the Kingslayer for murdering Aerys the Mad, but he was more than a fine specimen, as far as physical beauty in men went. The Lannisters were rich, richer than the Tyrells, or so the realm thought, and even if he was 15 years her senior, his good looks hadn’t left him. Sure, she wasn’t going to be Queen but she would make quite a few ladies turn green of envy, which was in essence pointless but to an extent entertaining.

 

“No.” Responded plainly Willas. “Feeling that his appointment as Hand of the King was probably why Robert Baratheon set your betrothal to Prince Joffrey aside, lord Stark had urged the King to find a way to repay us for the disrespect that has been brought upon our family.” Pouring himself a cup of sweet wine, her brother continued. “Hearing The Hand's proposal, the King has concocted the idea that a marriage between lord Eddard’s son and heir, Robb Stark, and you would be to the benefit of everyone and has so come up to us with this offer.”

 

Margaery didn’t know anything about the North or about the Starks, other that the former was a cold and almost barren land, and the latter were an honorable bunch. She had learned from her grandmother that even if Ned Stark had been the King’s best friend at one point, their relationship had cooled since Robert didn’t want to take actions against the murders of Elia Martell and her two children, who would have been rightful heirs to the throne by laws of succession. Margaery also knew that Lord Stark’s wife was Catelyn Stark, former Tully, daughter of Hoster Tully, the head of another Great House that were liege lords over the Riverlands. Catelyn Stark’s sister, Robb Stark’s aunt, was Lysa Arryn, who, after the death of her husband, had become Lady Regent of the Vale. This marriage, considering that her would be good father, Ned Stark, was Hand of the King, could prove to be more advantageous for her family than even entering the royal family. The only downside would be, of course, living in the harshness of the North. Margaery had thought of herself as being quite an adaptable person but she didn’t know if she was made for a life so far away from her family.

 

“I’ve heard he is quite comely for a Stark, having more of his mother Tully looks. He also is your age, I believe.” Smirked Willas softly at her, knowing that even if his sister was smarter than most of the other noble ladies her age, she was still a young woman who would prefer to live with a man that she at least can bear to look at. At his remark, her cheeks slightly reddened, as if being caught eating too many lemon cakes or doing something not proper of a lady.

 

"If you two believe he is the best choice, given the circumstances, then I am not opposed in any way.” Spoke Margaery, addressing both.

 

“I suppose there’s been too much buggery between Tyrells and royal blood already.” Her grandmother replied criptically, glancing for the split of a second to Willas. “Yes, my dear, we do believe he is the best choice for you and for our house. Somehow, the wedding is to take place in Highgarden, the Crown, and by that I mean the Lannisters, will play for it all and you and your betrothed will spend three moons here before heading to Winterfell. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Ned Stark had wanted this union for his own gain.” Taking a short break, Olenna signaled her grandson to pour her some wine, but continued quickly. “However, Stark men are honorable and there is much to be gained if you’ll be able to have one at your fingertip, especially if he is the heir to Winterfell. Dear, have I told you the story of how I came to marry your grandfather, Luthor?”

 

“The one where you pretend you left Prince Daeron Targaryen because he was sick and frail and not because he had interests only in men?” Willas interrupted, making lady Olenna give him a scornful look. Margaery pretended to not find that fact amusing in any way, even if, at one point a few years ago, she was almost betrothed to Reny Baratheon, the brother of the King and Lord of Storm’s End, only to find out later that he only had eyes for Loras and for certain stableboys in Highgarden.

 

“Forgive me, grandmother!” Willas apologised after a few seconds, meaning to show that he had not intended any offence. After taking a sip of his own wine, he changed the subject. “Have you heard the latest news from the East?”

 

“What news?” Her grandmother inquired almost half intrigued.

 

“My friends in Braavos tell me they heard that the Targaryen girl had managed to hatch three dragon eggs. She has lost most of her khalasar in her process and her brother Viserys is rumored to be dead by the hands of the girl’s former husband, Khal Drogo, although one source says he managed to escape. ”

 

“Dear boy.” Started Olenna. “It is not us who has to worry of the Targaryens coming back. Even if what you say is based in truth, there will be quite some time before they could make any moves in Westeros. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll leave the two of you alone and go rest.”

 

After her grandmother left the chamber, Willas offered Margaery to fill her coup with wine, which she politely refused, and invited her to take a walk with him into the gardens. 

 

She accepted gladly, considering that a bit of fresh air is always welcome. As they walked with a slowly pace, which she didn’t mind at all, they found themselves deeper and deeper within the garden. There, near a small table with two chairs, sat a man like she had never seen before – dressed in a metallic black armour which was designed without protection for his toned arms, holding in one of them a long spear and a round black shield and in the other his helmet. His smooth skin was of a shade even darker than those of dornishmen, which probably meant he was Essosi.

 

“Margaery, this is Grey Worm. He is an elite warrior and former member of a company called Unsullied. Prince Oberyn Martell has met him and resqued him from his former essosi master, a madman who bought him as his guard, only to try and kill him later for no reason. As you know, Prince Oberyn and I are very good friends and on my last trip to Dorne he has gifted him to me.” Willas spoke with words that left Margaery puzzled. If what he said was true, this man was a…

 

“So he is a slave? Isn’t that forbidden here?”

 

“He is not a slave, not in the true sense of the word. After the death of his master, he had willingly decided that he owes his life to Oberyn and wouldn’t stop following him. Oberyn, as he had no use for a bodyguard, told him when we saw each other in Dorne that I was to be in his command, since I’m in need for a guard more than the Prince could ever be. ” 

 

“Grey Worm, this is lady Margaery Tyrell, my sister. From this day on, I ask you to be her sworn shield, which means to protect her from any danger that could possibly harm her and to obey her commands. ” At her brother’s words, ‘Grey Worm’ bowed her head to her and muttered the words “my lady”.

 

“I don’t understand. There are plenty of Tyrell guards that could protect me Willas, we do have control one of the largest armies of the Reach. Why would I need another guard? No offence, Grey Worm.” Her sworn shield responded shortly, saying that none was taken.

 

“And you will have plenty of guards outside of him. But you never know what could happen Marge, guards can be bribed, they can get drunk or fall asleep when they are supposed to do their duty. That will never happen to Grey Worm. If what I’m told is right, the men of the Reach or of any Westerosi region would never be able to go through the training that he had. I want you to take him to Winterfell to protect you. I won’t lie, sweet sister, you might sway the Stark boy with you charms just like Loras did with Lord Renly, but the North is rough and I’m not talking only about the weather. You will have to play to role of the dutiful Northern wife and to earn the trust of his bannermen. They do not like women from the South, they never did and I don’t know if they ever will.”

 

As he said these words, Willas kissed her on her forehead and hugged her again. She realized that he was right – in Highgarden she could do as she pleased, she could walk around with who she pleased and she could wear what she wanted. She was doubtful that these things would be possible in Winterfell, future Lady of Winterfell or not. This whole affair will prove to be more of a challenge that she thought in the beginning and the Rose of Highgarden was not going to back away from it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! The next chapter will probably be the Starks, with Robb and part of the family arriving in King's Landing and then being on their way to Highgarden.


	3. A Wolf comes South

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robb Starks arrives in King's Landing to receive important news.

Robb Stark was the heir and first son of his father, Lord Eddard Stark, the newly appointed Hand to King Robert Baratheon, and he was supposed to be Lord of Winterfell in place of his father. Not nearly a month after his father, Sansa and Arya had arrived to the capital, a raven came to Winterfell bearing news. The message itself was quite cryptical – it said that his presence was requested to King’s Landing and that he was to take with him Theon Greyjoy and one hundred Stark soldiers for a safe road. His mother was to remain in the North with his younger brothers, Bran and Rickon and to act as Lady of Winterfell. The message was signed by his father and beared the Stark sigil, the direwolf, as reassurance that it actually came from his father. Robb did not know what to make of it, his father lord has always been blunt in the way he spoke and now he was the opposite of that. What could be of so great importance that required his son’s presence to the capital?

 

In a few days, the northern envoy was ready to leave Winterfell: 100 hundred soldiers of his father’s bannermen, he, Theon and Jon Snow and two direwolfs set foot on the Kingsroad. Robb had half the mind not to let his halfbrother Jon to stay at home with his mother. He knew that if that were the case, she would be more than happy to release Jon to join the Night’s Watch as he had confessed Robb that he wanted but Robb would not have that – he would do anything to stop Snow throwing his life away for a place of thieves and rapists. The Night’s Watch had once been a honorable place for a third or a fourth son to go and serve, his uncle Benjen being proof to that, but these days the new brothers were mostly outlaws, a company Jon should not keep. Why should Jon’s bastard nature make him any less than Robb? After all, it was his father who had broken the vows he had said to mother under the sight of the old gods, not Jon.

 

The trip was rather uneventful save for the sly and mean remaks Theon had for his brother. The Greyjoy spawn always liked to boast of his superiority as a trueborn son and heir to the Iron Islands over Jon, trying to lower his selfesteem as much as he could. One nasty remark would do, it could pass of as jesting, but to run your mouth every day for two forthnights was getting on Robb’s nerves – so much that, at some point near the end of their trip he had punched Theon in the face, leaving his nose bloodied.

 

“Listen up, kraken! You forget yourself. You have lived your life in my home, being treated as one of us, even if we share no blood connection. You came to us as a prisoner due to the failures of your family, you are your family’s heir due to the failures of your family. Noone has ever commented of the nature of your upbringing, which many considered traitorous because of the mistakes of your father – not me, not father, not mother, not any of my sisters or brothers. And Jon is my brother, never forget that! You will treat him with the respect that father has instilled in you and in all of us.”

 

Robb’s voice was strong, commanding and harsh and it made Theon want to spit in his face and punch back but he knew better than that. He also knew that no word he had spoken was false but the ironborn was too proud to admit that. He would give the bastard a break for some time, if that meant he won’t be put in any more embarrassing situations like that one. If his father would see him now, the old man would probably spit in his face and never recognize him as such – Theon had left as an ironborn child and when he’ll return he’ll look like a weak green lander.

 

When he heard that there was no need for him to dine with the royal family his blue tully eyes had beamed with excitement and relief. While Robb had no ill will towards the King himself, he could do without the piercing green eyes of the Lannister Queen glaring all over him and without her stupid son, Joffrey. The gods weren’t kind to the Realm if that boy would once sit on the Iron Throne and his attitude of a spoiled and ungrateful princeling would remain the same. 

 

The night when they arrived in King’s Landing they all had diner in the Tower of the Hand – well, not all since mother, Rickon and Bran were still in Winterfell, which he was partly glad for, because it meant Jon was allowed to sit at the table with them. The first course had been already put on the table by the servants but his father had ordered his siblings to wait. Little Arya had already grown angry and was about to say something that would make Sansa faint when the door of the dining room had been opened. Robb had never seen a man so well dressed in his entire life but he had never traveled past the Neck more than once either. His clothes were made of a fine southern fabric, their colour being a perfect assortment of yellow and black with the symbol of a stag being embrodied on them carefully. With all his certainty, Robb believed that his man was of noble birth, a Baratheon to be more exactly, but the way he carried himself in the room was not with the entitlement of the stupid Prince, but with an air of confidence and charisma. Suddenly, it hit him: this man looked exactly like father had described the king – charismatic, confident and strong, not the disappointment of a man that had shown up in Winterfell.

 

“Apologies for the delay, Lord Stark.” Said the man smiling and looking over the table.

 

“No need to, Renly.” His father responded returning the smile and hugging the man. “You must already know my daughters: Arya and Sansa.”

 

“My ladies.” He said as he kissed the back of their hands. Arya was almost fuming, exasperated with the pleasantries while Sansa’s face turned red as a cherry. Robb frowned at that, he wasn’t that close with his sister but it still upset him the way she was so over the moon with the princeling, and now over this man, who was way too for her.

 

“Boys, this is Renly Baratheon, brother to the King, Lord of Storm’s End and Master of Laws on the Small Council.” Said Robb’s father. So he was right, this man was indeed a Baratheon and quite an important one.

 

“These is my son and heir, Robb Stark, my ward Theon Greyjoy and my other son, Jon Snow!” As Renly greeted each of them, Robb noticed that the manner in which he spoke to all of them was the same, not differentiating by their status like Catelyn Stark used to do, not a single scornful look or remark towards either Jon, a bastard, or Theon, son of a former traitor.

 

After the introductions had been properly made, they began to serve the chicken soup which to everyone’s surprise was still quite hot. Renly Baratheon was all smiles during the rest of the dinner and managed to have small talk with each person at the table wheter it was about swordplay and archery, smallfolk problems or what new silks have been brought to King’s Landing. ‘This man must really know how to talk to a woman’ thought Robb as he was left in awe at how easily Renly conversed with Sansa.

 

“Tell me Lord Stark, have you told your son why you have brought him here from the North? The boy must be wondering why he’s left his home.” For a second the heir of Winterfell was angry at being called a boy, after all, he was already seven and ten, but brushed the thought off quickly, realizing there was no ill intent behind it. Still, the question reignited Robb’s curiosity, who hadn’t given that much thought as to why exactly his father had called him at court since he had left Winterfell.

 

“I was just about to, Renly.” After a short sigh, Ned Stark began. “Son, it is already long past the time for you to be betrothed.” Hearing those words, Robb’s face went pale, Arya looked confused, Sansa’s eyes started glimmering at the realization, Greyjoy’s lips formed a large grin on his face while Jon remained expressionless. “The King himself wanted to express his gratitude for my services as Lord Hand and has decided that our house will join the Tyrells in a marriage between you and Lord Tyrell’s daughter. You and the boys will journey tomorrow to Highgarden, when the wedding will take place, seven days after you arrive there. After that, you’ll stay there as a guest for 3 moons, before you go back to Winterfell with a bride. ” The words his father just uttered left the boy stunned; he had heard each of them, but was barely able to comprehend what was happening around him. Still speechless, he felt a vigorous pat on the back from Renly Barahteon, followed by what one would call congratulatory words.

 

Don’t be so stiff boy, Margaery Tyrell is the most beautiful woman in all Seven Kingdoms, but don’t tell Cersei that.” He heard the king’s brother laugh, only for him to continue. “You don’t get so lucky everyday, every lordling and lowborn alike will die of envy when you’ll have her as wife, you’ll see.”

 

“I am glad for the news father and I look forward to meeting her, Lord Renly.” Robb lied, but at least tried to sound not to unfased by the news. In truth, he was angry – his sister will marry the one she loves, even if he’s a prick, and has a full year at her disposition to get to know the princeling before she weds him. He, on the other hand, has to marry some perfumed southern lady 7 days after he meets her and he has to stay in her perfumed southern house for a lot of time after that. He heard of the Tyrells, of how they were pompous roses who never worked for anything in their life. ‘None of these flowers would be able to resist a day in the North’ Ned Stark’s heir concluded.

 

************

 

Later that night, while trying to rest, Robb heard a knock on the door of his chamber and before he could say anything, Theon Greyjoy stumbled inside.

 

“Come now, Stark, let’s go. You wouldn’t want to go to your future lady wife’s bed inexperienced, not after what I’ve heard and I know the best brothel.” The Ironborn started speaking, as if he specifically wanted to taunt Robb.

 

“What have you heard?” Inquired Robb furiously.

 

“You don’t know? Why do you think Renly Baratheon visits Highgarden so often? He’s been fucking your little flower wife since she was thirteen. He and half the stableboys at Highgarden and I believe even her brothers took a turn at her.”

 

Robb’s facial expressions hardened at what he was hearing.

 

“How do you know that?” He fret clenching his teeth.

 

“A few years ago she was Renly’s betrothed and he didn’t want to take her as a wife, probably was already spoiled. Still, he found her cunt sweet enough to make sure to visit her home as much as he can. After that, her father, the fat flower, thought he could make her Queen, so she was betrothed to Sansa’s princeling. When the king found out about her misadventures, he set her aside for your sister, but a betrothal was already a betrothal so to keep the Tyrells satisfied, he’s given their ravaged flower of Highgarden to you.”

 

Robb’s Tully blue eyes were now almost red with fury – he had nothing to say in this matter as his dear lord father had already decided for him. All his fears about this southern girl were coming to reality; no wonder she was from the Reach who is geographically next to Dorne, the Land of Whores, as Theon liked to call it. He fetched his clothes, got dressed and followed his friend. He hoped the old gods would have mercy, after all, even if promised he wasn’t married.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter we'll take a look at Essos and after that Highgarden.
> 
> Yes, Robb is a honorable fool, more fool than honorable, but he'll grow. The North is very conservative when it comes to women - they're either the submissive and dutiful type of Catelyn Stark or the fierce warrior type like the Mormont women. Highgarden, on the other hand, is close to Dorne :)


	4. The King and the Courtesan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We take a short trip to Essos to see how Daenerys' supposed dead but not quite dead brother is doing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be on the Roseroad, or on the Roseroad & at Highgarden. Things might get messy.

 

Vaena could not say she enjoyed her life in Lys to a full extent but she had grown accustomed to it, if one could ever grow accustomed to the profession of being a whore or more precisely, a pillow girl. Within the nine Free Cities Lys was known as the Land of all Pleasures, the Perfumed Sister and a place where noblemen and noblewomen from every part of the western side of Essos and evena from Westeros came to fulfill their sexual desires. Lys was a place where no one judged no one and as long as you had a fat purse of gold you could buy anything – women, men, children and even dwarfs; of course, only for a limited period of time. It was rare for a pleasure house to sell one of their bedslaves for an unlimited period of time and it only happened in special cases when princes and kings across the Narrow Sea were in search for a permanent mistress or even for a bride.

 

The blood of Old Valyria ran strong among the citizens of Lys the Lovely, a place where even most of the small-folk have the pale skin, silver-gold hair and purple, lilac or pale blue eyes of the now extinct Dragonlords. A young woman like Vaena would probably be regarded as an exotic beauty in Westeros with her having the looks of former kings, queens, princes and princesses of the realm but here, in Lys, she was just as good and as replaceable as any other courtesan, though trained ones like her were not found on every street. She had started working five years ago, at the age of six and teen, three full years after her first moon blood, thanks to the kindness of her mistress. Of course Lady Alysanne would never tell her to her face that she liked or even cared for her, but the woman’s actions spoke for themselves. The mistress of the house had presented her with the explanation that a good courtesan should not start to work immediately after she had flowered, for she would be spoiled. A good courtesan had to grow into her body first before she should make any attempts at entertaining clients. The Lady had also told her that as long as she will live and rule over the house, no bed-slave under the age of five and ten will provide services for anyone. To Vaena it seemed that her mistress had great displeasure and was in much disagreement with the use of children in the bedroom. However, the girl never decided to press on the issue to find more details behind that reasoning and was thankful for being pardoned for as long as she had been.

 

The Lady had took her into her care since Vaena was a little girl and her parents had perished. She was originally from Volantis but as the days were passing she remembered less and less of her hometown and of her dead family. When she first began her service as a courtesan, the girl was truly scared of what was to come. To her surprise, the more the clients were willing to pay, the less they were asking of her. Not one client was allowed to get violent with her or with any of the other courtesans at all, save for if bites or slaps were included in what they were paying for. Still, none of the acts the clients were allowed to perform on them could leave any permanent or damaging marks – the courtesans may have been replaceable but they were still needed to be kept in a proper state for future payers.

 

The Lady of the House was supposed to arrive any moment from her trip to the east. She had promised to bring Vaena a surprise and the girl concluded that by surprise she meant new clothes or jewles to wear when presented to new clients. As the young valyrian girl was taking a hot bath in a special water mixed with powerful scents of different flowers, she heard the door opening without anyone knocking before. Not bothering to cover the nakedness of her body, the young courtesan greeted her mistress cheerfully and asked her if she had a safe trip. To her surprise, when she got out of her bath, Lady Alysanne stood before her with a skinny man who was barely able to stand on his own feet . The man’s skin was paler than she had ever seen before,  his hair was of a silvery nuance, almost white, falling to his shoulders and his eyes were of a pale, diluted purple – the poor thing seemed like he was half-conscious, in a state between life and death.

 

“From now on, your task is to see to this man’s health. Prepare for him a hot bath and be certain that he gets some food into his belly. You are not to see any client until he is nursed back to health. Tomorrow in the morning call the maester if he gets worse, if not, continue to do as I said.” The Lady’s orders were clear, but her intensions were not. Vaena usually knew better than to question her ladies intentions but the words still slipped her lips.

 

“Who is he?” The girl asked with a half voice.

 

“He will be your new colleague. After he is nursed back to help I want you to teach him of our ways of pleasing. We are in a shortage of comely boys and I believe he’ll make a good addition.”

 

“So I will train him to become a courtesan?” Vaena was skeptical of how this almost dead man would be a good addition to the house, but decided against asking for anymore explanations. _‘Why him when any smallfolk would have sufficed just the same or even better?’_

 

“Yes. And if everything goes well, even more than that.” Her mistress words left Vaena more confused than she already was, however, she will sooner or later find out the meaning behind them.

 

**************************************************************************************************

 

Opening his eyelids, he felt discomfort as the rays of light entered through the window of the chamber that he had found himself in. His nostrils were invaded by an exotic smell of flowers, a sweet but heady scent of lilacs if his nose didn’t lie to him. And if his nose didn’t lie to him, his eyes, now clear and already accustomed with the heavy light certainly didn’t. Turning his dizzy head to the left, Viserys noticed a meticulously crafted white porcelain vase with the symbol of a weeping woman on it that contained freshly watered plants of lilac. The object was situated on a medium sized nightstand made of black marble and near it the beggar king’s eyes spied a silver platter of plenty different fruits: peaches, blood oranges, figs, black plums and a few red strawberries.

 

If he had been in a better physical state and if his stomach wasn’t growling so hard, Viserys would have pondered a few seconds before attempting to eat unknown food from an unknown source. Had his father been buried like any other commoner instead of being cremated he would most certainly roll in his grave if he saw his heir being so clumsy with his life. However, Viserys didn’t care in that moment about his western kingdom that he had to take back, he didn’t care about legacy and about the betrayal of his sister; all he wanted  was to fill his belly with some food.

 

After managing to calm his hunger for a while, he got a better look of the room he woke up in – the bed in which he had rested was round, comfortable and was covered in fine purple sheets; the walls were painted in bloody red while the ceiling was milky white, decorated with some foreign black painted symbols, seeming almost as if someone had started writing a poem on it. Whomever was his mysterious benefactor, he must have been rich, a though which made Viserys frown - he had been tired of wealthy benefactors feeding him lies and halftruths, for they only wanted something in return.

 

The place oddly reminded him of the House with the Reed Door and of good Ser Willem Darry, the knight who had died taking care of him and of Daenerys, the man who had been their savior. After their protector’s untimely death, everything had gone south, knocking from door to door, selling everything they had, until he and Dany landed under the protection of Ilyrio Mopatis in Pentos. For whatever reason, the man had been good to them, fed them with good food and gave them proper clothes, but at the same time he planted in Viserys the desire for the Iron Throne, the desire to take back what was rightfully his, the desire which ultimately led the Mad King’s son to sell his sister to a savage for an army he was never going to get. Only after barely escaping the Dothraki and ending up on the streets of Qohor as a beggar he had remembered the words of Ser Darry: _“Your father was a good man in his youth, smart, ambitious and proud. It was the grief of losing his newborn children one after the other, the whispers of spiders and serpans that drove him to madness. You must always be careful to whom you choose to listen to, little King.”_

 

Escaping his own thoughts, Viserys considered to get out of the bed he had woken up in and take a look at the view offered by the open window – the sun was almost setting down, drawning itself in the crystal clear water on which a few merchant ships were to be seen. _‘Near a dock, this place was near a dock, but where?’_ Last of what he remembers was begging on the streets on Qohor before being abducted by a band of sorcerers who were to sacrifice him to their Goat God. After they had reached the temple his memory started getting fuzzy and everything went blank. A cynical chuckle left out of his mouth – if not killed by the savages he sold his sister to then sacrificed to a goat by madmen. But it seems that the sacrifice did not take place in truth as he was pretty much very alive.

 

“Hello, stranger.” He heard  a sweet voice behind him as a pair of delicate arms came around him and fresh, soft lips attacked the skin of his exposed neck in a soft kiss. Startled, Viserys turned around to see a girl of his age or maybe slightly younger, with the same hair as his and with big round eyes of deep purple – a lovely sight in truth, had he not mistaken her for his sister. He grabed at her hand strongly and hissed, hatred filling his body. A few seconds in, with his hand still gripping hers, he realized his mistake and let her go.

 

“Who are you?” He curiously asked, without any of his usual harshness he showed when he talked to other people whom he might consider peasants, forgetting about his kingly self. Mayhaps he shall let his kingly self behind, all his life his name has brought him nothing but pain – the pain of seing his mother hurt by his father, the pain of losing his siblings and the pain of failing with Daenerys.

 

Unfazed by his slightly violent approach, the stranger moved her delicate hand to cup his check and carres his skin. Her touch felt nice.

 

“A friend.”

 

 


End file.
